


Once a Regeneration

by pony_express



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-29
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2018-01-21 07:27:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1542566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pony_express/pseuds/pony_express
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a_phoenixdragon's prompt for some Doctorbation, "awkward drunk hand job where Eleven doesn't realise it's Ten until his hand is down his pants. Then...he remembers - and he can't stop it without tipping Ten off to what is going and on who he is. Meanwhile, Ten is having a grand time"</p><p>Disclaimer: Characters borrowed without consent for personal, non-profit use. No copyright infringement intended</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once a Regeneration

**Author's Note:**

> Posted on my LJ on Dec. 17th, 2010

The Doctor staggered over to the corner of the nightclub. His back reached the wall of the darkest corner and he let out a sigh. The girls here are hot. In every sense of the word. And they dance. Wow they dance. The men are a bit shy but that generally the rule wherever you go, in the Doctor's experience.

Taking a time out the Doctor scanned the room. He was feeling a little hot. The bar. A drink.

The Doctor was taking a much needed rest and by rest he's totally being more active than ever. Dancing the universe away. Humans with their ideas of fun! Loud music and drink? Yeah the Doctor would go for that. He'd try anything once. . . Once every regenaration.

Finding his way to the bar had been the easier part. Well, the easier part. Easier than trying to order a drink when he got there. He slurs and mumbles his way through what he believes is a drink order in English. A hiccup here and a slip into Russian there.

A voice from behind him clearly articulates his drink order. No slurring or slips into another language. A perfect order from a perfect gentleman. The Doctor turns to thank the man and wow what a man! The Doctor takes too long to admire the man.

He's tall, dark and very handsome. He's wearing a suit and his tie matches the colour of his Converse shoes. The Doctor touches his own tie. It's not there: he previously loosen it. Or was that one of the women?

The Doctor shakes the thought away and turns his attention back to the mystery man. His hair is wild. Misshapen, untamed and thick, perfect for ruffling. The Doctor stops himself reaching put to touch it. He whines.

Mystery man turns to him grinning the most mischievous grin the Doctor as have seen, and he's seen some. Hell, he's even pulled some. He grins back and the man opposite him winks at him.

The Doctor feels the temperature of the room all to suddenly. As he cheeks burn with the heat of his blood and lust the Mystery man moves besides him. He's so close the Doctor can smell him. Feel his breathe. Hear his heart beat. Or is that his own?

The Doctor gulped as he felt a soft pressure on his hip. And mystery man's lips touched his ear and the Doctor thought he heard a request for a dance. But the tongue of the man so close to his skin, and sensitive skin at that made the Doctor almost moan out aloud.

Instead of answering in words the Doctor took the man by the hand and lead him on to the dance floor. He was forced to take back everything he said about the men in this club: this one, at least, is definitively not shy.

He was even dancing dirty. His arse, and my, it was a glorious arse - perfectly rounded, tight in those trousers. Oh, the Doctor wanted to bite that and touch it and just have it any which way he could - it's either grinding into the Doctor's crotch and his body reacts in great pleasure every time, or its shaking its way round to the Doctor's arse.

When the mystery man is behind the Doctor, he doesn't know whether to miss the action at the front or enjoy it at the back. He whined at both the loss of contact at the front and the new pleasure behind. His whines became moans and then the mystery man is turning around and moving into new positions.

He, the mystery man is having the time of his life; working the Doctor up and wearing him out. In the dark on the club the two of them got closer and closer.

The thick air around them got hotter and heavier. Dry ice is sprayed into the crowd, causing the already low visibility to dip lower.

The Doctor let out a small moan as a more needy touch made at him in both playfulness and wanting. He felt the hands of the mystery man all over him all at once. The man's talented fingers danced over his skin, lit a fire deep in the Doctor. All his senses felt heightened.

He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Didn't want to. He was mostly out of his mind on drink, the sights and sounds, and feel of the place. That was before his man worked him up into the hot mess he was becoming. Now his mind had almost left him. He was putty in the man's playful but talented hands.

They were warm to the touch. But felt deadly. Electrifying almost. He wondered how it felt to the man at the other end. His fingers couldn't get enough of the Doctor. They grabbed at the bum and waist, tugged on the braces and shirt hem. They trailed across his ribs and danced playful up his neck to ruffle his hair.

"Braces huh?", the man huffed. His voice as hot and as heavy as the air they stood in. The Doctor would have fought back if he could; a witty remark about wearing a tie to this kind of club, despite the fact he wore a bow tie when he first walked in, but nothing came to his lips.

His braces were twanged; the noise pleasing the man, especially the moan of pain and pleasure that fell from the Doctor. The Doctor bit his lip. The darkness hid a lot of sins and the noise the DJ was offending their ears with would only cover so much.

When his braces were twanged once more, catching his nipple and causing a hissed moan, the Doctor faced the man. They locked eyes for what seemed like the longest moment and the Doctor felt himself drifting. He couldn't stop it. Didn't want to.

They grinned mindlessly at each other until tall dark and skinny suggested something the Doctor couldn't quite hear. He knew it was a suggestion, the man's eyebrows told him as much, raising and falling with a little nod of the head. It was a signal to get a little closer.

They were already so close. The Doctor knew what the signs meant of course he did. He cocked his head to the corner he rested in earlier. It was dark and secluded enough. Near to both the dry ice machine and loud speaker, the Doctor was confident both were close enough to hid their sins.

With his back back against the wall the Doctor reached forward grabbing the tie of the beautiful stranger, who felt familiar in many ways. The man came willingly and kept on coming until their lips mashed together in what felt like pure heaven for the Doctor.

He felt his lungs fill with the hot sticky breathe of the dark haired man and tasted a welcoming almost friendly taste. He knew it was something but what. All of time and space racing through his head how could he remember a taste from eons ago.

He moaned as the kiss deepened. The lips of his counterpart felt moist and he enjoyed sucking the life from them when the man parted them and allowed the Doctor's tongue to explore.

The man pulled back with the same speed as he had attacked the Doctor's lips and both whined at the loss of contact. But the man's grin held a promise that the stillness between them wasn't going to stay for long.

Wondering fingers found their way to a button and a fly was loosened. The Doctor fumbled. He couldn't return the favour to the over sexualized man and he was wanted little more than to do so.

He regretted drinking all the tough boys under the table. Yes, he was a Time Lord and had a greater limit than a human, but he still had a limit. He'd passed that and was unsure how he had without realizing it.

A cold breeze from somewhere drafted passed the Doctor. It was welcomed. The hot heavy air was hard enough to breathe in without the added pressure of having it sucked out of him every time his date even so much as gently brush passed him.

He realised all too suddenly that the breeze he felt came from his pants. He didn't need to look down to confirm but he did anyway. He was a thin layer of fabric away from being exposed in this club. He gulped.

The man worked fast. The Doctor was trying not to freak out as the realisation of what was actually happening began to sink in. It sank it slower than the man's hand and teeth sank into him.

The teeth gazing his neck caused a moan which was replaced by a sharp hiss as the hand reached the Doctor hardening cock. A tongue then lavished his neck as a thumb brushed playfully over his tip. Another hissed moan and the Doctor was fumbling on his feet.

He knees ached. He'd been standing, dancing all night. They'd turned to jelly and were threatening to buckle from beneath him when the man's talented hand began working its way up the Doctors length.

The Doctor didn't bother to bite his lip this time and let the moans fall fast and free from his lips. The man was delighted with the moans, groans, hisses and sharp intakes of breathe. They were his reward and he praised the Doctor with more touches, faster movements, slower movements, the feel of skin on skin.

The man had two hands, a fact that had escaped the Doctor until he felt the second work its way up his ribs. His nipple was rubbed between a thumb and finger playful and yet it felt raw. Almost painful.

The Doctor's mouth hung open as he tried to lean back further. He was trying to provide better access. His neck was exposed as he rolled his head back. He tried to part his legs but felt moving them now would cause them both to fall.

A thumb brushed against his tip again and he began to leak pearly white drops of hot liquid.

"There are go", the man whispered in a husky tone. The Doctor moaned with a nod.

His bodily fluid was collected in the man's hand. He began coating the Doctor's cock with it. The warm liquid on his skin, mixed with the man's touched caused the Doctor to buckle. His legs weren't going to last as long as his cock.

He willed his legs to hold. His cock wanted to enjoy this. He wanted to enjoy this. And he wanted the man to enjoy it too. They had both come here to get their release and the Doctor was going to get his pretty quickly.

He moaned again as the fingers brushed against his tender nipple. His braces being pulled on had caused a small bruise to form.

The man hovering slightly above him moaned to and the Doctor felt hips rock against his. The man still had one hand up the Doctors shirt thumbing a nipple and the other down his pants thumbing the head of his cock. This man was so. . . What's the word. . . The Doctor's mind faded. The man was superhuman. Keeping his balanced, rocking his hips, his playful fingers. . .

Again the Doctor's knees let out a silent cry. The Doctor promised them it'd be over soon. Although he equally, if not more so, wished for the opposite. He began to rock into the man's fist. The warm fluid acting to speed up the Doctor's slow movements. He was tiring.

"Yes," moaned the man and that what followed made the Doctor understand everything. Gallifreyan fell from the man's lips. The Doctor tried to stop himself. But he was so well lubed there was little he could do.

He realised why the man's touches had been so electric. Why the man had the strength to stand there. Why the man wasn't drunk. . . It was him. He willed his eyes to focus. That great hair was once his. Those talented fingers belonged to him. That accent, those clothes, that terrible flirting and winking. . . They were all his. Or used to be. He was getting a hand job from his previous regeneration.

"Oh," he sighed. He needed to hurry this up. He heard his knees cheer. He couldn't get off knowing he was basically masturbating. And what if he slipped into Gallifreyan like he did so often when aroused? That would alarm his younger self. And he is the oldest, he should know better. .  
His body burnt with pain and need. His head ached with confusion and realisation.

He decided he'd finish this as fast as it would take. He was all too aware of how this would look if it all came out. He was going to slip into Gallifreyan; he could feel it. He was going to do something that made his younger self realise what was going on.

He was thankful that he had been so well lubed by his younger self's efforts, it meant he could slow a little. His legs still screamed out; it wouldn't ever be fast enough for his legs.

"Faaasster," he cried out, mirroring the sigh from his legs, mind and need to release.

His younger self grinned wider, not that the Doctor noticed. He decided to look anywhere but at the man in front of him; it was more painful and confusion than he could deal with. Than he could ever deal with.

His request was fulfilled, much to his pleasure and relief. Hands that used to be his where very talented. He was close and he let his younger self know with a grunt and a lame attempt at a hip thrust.

The younger man understood. Of course he did, he understood over 6 million languages. The Doctor might debate whether this counted as a language. Later. When he hoped he'd be able to; when brain function returned. Although he actually didn't want to remember this.  
Short, fast, consecutive pumps on his cock made the Doctor release. Finally. His whole body sigh in relief. Breathing as hot and as heavy as the air around him, the Doctor tried to regain control of his body.

His legs still refused to participate; moving them caused pain to tear through him. He tucked himself in and breathed a thank you to himself.  
The younger man looked confused and probably would have stopped the now bumbling Doctor from leaving. The Doctor walked as if he was unsure of how his legs worked; they bowed, and shock. It probably looked like a drunk walk, but more comical.

The Doctor had knew felt relief like the cool air that hit him in the fast when at last he made it out of the club. With the sound of the drum and bass still ringing in his ears, the Doctor leaned back on the nearest wall just collecting his breath and thoughts.

'Time can be rewritten' he thought. That was his favourite catchphrase when he was that man. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to forget. He thought back to his time as that regeneration and realised he had no memory of what took place.  
He sighed and breathed out, "Time can be rewritten," to the cold, still air.

He had to set off fast, before his younger self followed him. He headed off in the direction of the TARDIS, worried in case his tenth form came after him and then all would be revealed.

Fumbling for the key, the Doctor made his way home. He knew what he had to do now. He knew he couldn't leave this time as it was. He mumbled something to the TARDIS console. She, as she was, was silent and still. The Doctor responded with a sigh, and set the TARDIS spinning into the vortex.

He even remembered to engage the "dampers" or whatever it was River did that time. He couldn't risk himself hearing the TARDIS noise.  
And he wondered as they went spinning off, ready to land just minutes before he went into the club what he would actually say to himself to stop this from happening. What could he say?

The TARDIS landed without a sound and the Doctor was still lost without a thought. This was new, he'd parked the TARDIS correctly and was lost for words. Those two things never happened. And especially not together.

He peered his head around the door checking he'd got the right time, date and place. As the same cold air that hit him earlier swirled around the TARDIS, gently touched his face he was reminded of his time in the club.

The memory caused his skin to blush, his knees to burn, his mind left and his cock twitched. He sighed heavily once more.

'No,' he thought. He must rewrite this time. He already did; he has no memory of it ever happening.

And still his mind begin to wonder. The alternative universe were it happened that already started spinning, his younger self would go off now and fight the Master, lose Donna all over again. No, his former self came to let loose, and the Doctor knew with the future he had ahead, he needed it.

His mind still not made up, the Doctor paced the centre console. He mulled over the words time can be rewritten and thought about how happy he had made both versions of himself. And then he thought about how miserable mistaking this decision was making him.  
He punched some coordinates into the console. He made a promise a long time ago to never cross his own timeline. He would keep that promise, he decided. He would let the Doctor get off, both of them.

He'd try anything once. . . Once every regeneration.


End file.
